


Miscommunication

by DawnOfTomorrow



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Failure to Communicate, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, The road to love is much harder, The road to success is a hard one, Victor Has Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnOfTomorrow/pseuds/DawnOfTomorrow
Summary: Victor was used to people falling in love with him because of his skating. He never expected to fall in love watching someone else skate. Having never truly been in love at all, it took him a remarkably long time to figure out that that was what had happened to him when he watched Yuuri Katsuki.Victor Nikiforov was a strong man, a proud man. Most men from Russia were, really, but he even more so. When he realised that the simple reason he wasn’t wanted by Yuuri was that he hadn’t aged well, he had stood tall even when it had hurt. He loved Yuuri too much to give up and didn't love himself enough to properly talk about it.They move in together before they talk about it, actually.





	1. Chapter 1

Victor was used to people falling in love with him because of his skating. He never expected to fall in love watching someone else skate. Having never truly been in love at all, it took him a remarkably long time to figure out that that was what had happened to him when he watched Yuuri Katsuki.

He’d been vaguely aware of the other man – of course he had been, as he had been of all skaters at the Grand Prix level – but he hadn’t looked too closely. Yes, the younger skater was beautiful, just his type, really, but Victor wasn’t looking for a relationship, and that had been the end of it.

Well, until the banquet. Drunk Yuuri had made...quite the impression. He’d challenged the other Yuri to a dance-off and had wiped the floor with him. Sure, the other Russian was a skater, not a dancer, but the ease with which Yuuri had beaten him had...stirred something in Victor.

He’d asked one of the people watching what exactly he was looking at and had been informed by someone that Yuuri was a dancer before he was a skater. That he was trained in just about any kind of dance. Victor had been...intrigued.

When Yuuri had grinned at him, had teasingly asked him to dance, he had moved without thought, much to the shock of everyone there. Having never been much of a dancer either, he found the experience...fun. 

Though the younger skater was shorter by a few inches, and though he was drunk, he moved Victor’s body with the kind of ease and grace he looked for in lovers. It was his eyes though, that had really sparked that strange something in his gut. Yuuri’s eyes were expressive, a bright, varied kind of brown he hadn’t seen before.

They pulled him in – later, looking at the photos, he’d been a little embarrassed by just how obviously...into Yuuri he had been. In just a few minutes, the other skater had made him drop the persona he normally adopted in public, and he hadn’t minded one bit.

Of course, his request to coach him...well, he HAD seen the other man skate. He was good but he couldn’t work magic.

Then, then there had been that video. Yuuri had skated, no, danced, his routine. Stay with me. He’d chosen it out of an odd sense of melancholy. People hadn’t expected it, and that had been the idea. Yuuri did it differently. He made the jumps easier, focused more on the steps, the dancing side of it. Some of his steps had been a little sloppy.

He had mentally started packing before the video was over. He had to coach Yuuri, there was nothing for it. Before he actually went though, there was some reconnaissance to do. He knew little if anything about the other man after all.

The Internet wasn’t very helpful, but Victor had a better source – Chris. The Swiss skater always had gossip, and while Victor wasn’t a fan of that normally, he had no doubt the other man would indulge his request.

He did indeed. Victor learned quite a bit. Yuuri Katsuki was four years younger, from the town of Hasetsu in Japan where his family ran an inn. He was close to fellow skater Phitchit Chulanont and spent some five years in the US for training, while also studying.

The most interesting piece of information Victor learned was one that nearly made him giddy: Apparently, Yuuri Katsuki was well-known for idolising Victor Nikiforov.

The man had said so in interviews (not that Victor frantically tried to look for them, really, he didn’t), had created routines inspired by him, and he’d danced that Stay with me routine. Clearly, seducing the man would be easy.

Victor found out that seducing Yuuri was NOT easy around the same time he realised that he was in love, rather than just very, very interested in the other. He wasn’t sure whether it was the fifth or fifteenth rejection from the other man that really drove the message home.

Yuuri didn’t want him. Sure, the younger skater wanted Victor as a coach, but not as a lover. It was all too obvious in the way he acted, the way he dodged, avoided, backed away from every attempted touch.

It grated on Victor. He wasn’t used to being rejected, and on the few occasions it HAD happened...he’d simply gotten over it. Perhaps sulked for a day or two, and then that was that. With Yuuri, that simply didn’t work. Every rejection...stung.

Victor was pretty sure that it was the way Yuuri seemed unwilling to look at him up close that bothered him the most. People always looked at him. Had done since he had been but a teenager. He was used to putting on a performance, used to commanding the attention of hundreds. He was GOOD at it even.

Yuuri barely paid him any attention at all, unless it was during training. It was infuriating. The other thing that bothered him was that he wasn’t allowed into Yuuri’s room. The other had no problem at all coming into his own when needed, but he wasn’t allowed into Yuuri’s.

For all that he cared little about personal space, he respected that at first. At first. After a week of dismissals, Victor Nikiforov went snooping. Well, not a lot of that was required. He simply opened the door, looked inside and closed the door again.

Yuuri’s walls were positively plastered with images of...well, him. Victor didn’t understand. Clearly, Yuuri held some form of affection for him? Going by the sheer amount of posters, quite a lot of it. Still, he was rejected.

Victor got a little more desperate with every day. He went so far as to research what, specifically, was attractive to Japanese people. He’d felt like an idiot, playing with his yukata, letting it slide down his shoulders and exposing his neck, laying on his side and letting it slip over his thighs.

It hadn’t worked. So, Victor had waited for Yuuri to offer to walk Makkachin, had patiently waved goodbye to his two favourites and then he’d scrambled up the stairs, into Yuuri’s room. He’d taken another look, a closer look.

The posters around the room – well, posters plus one framed picture – were everywhere. He stopped counting at eleven. Most of them were quite old – in fact, he couldn’t find one that wasn’t at least three or four years old.

He’d done so many photo-shoots, so many covers, he hardly even recognised most of them. What he did recognise, was himself. Specifically, his younger self. He’d cut off his long hair years ago, in no small part due to convenience...but also to surprise his fans.

In many of Yuuri’s posters (and the framed picture), his hair was still long. He was sure though, that no matter what, Yuuri wouldn’t lose interest over something like that. He sat down on Yuuri’s futon as the realisation began to dawn.

No, it wouldn’t be anything as simple as a haircut, Yuuri was better than that. He pulled out his phone, fingers a little numb as he fumbled for the front camera. He looked at his reflection, studied himself.

The realisation...hurt. Not just the sting from before, but actual pain, a dull ache in his chest. Still, it was obvious. The beginnings of crow-feet were starting to wrinkle in the corners of his eyes. Laugh and frown-lines had begun to carve themselves into his face.

His hair had, maybe, sort of begun to thin – his hairline had DEFINITELY sat lower when he’d worn it longer. Though he was still in good shape, his body wasn’t as it once had been either. He got tired faster than Yuuri did, much faster.

His knees hurt when he didn’t land his quads well, and sometimes even when he did. That was the price he paid for skating so he’d never paid it much thought. Now he had no choice. He studied his hands next. They were pretty but they WERE starting to wrinkle a little and it wasn’t exactly an improvement.

Perhaps the only thing that remained utterly unchanged were his eyes. They were still just as blue. Staring at his camera and then the posters, he couldn’t help but wonder though. Had age dulled them as well? Had they not been lighter, brighter, before? Really, it was no wonder that the much younger Yuuri didn’t want him.

Victor groaned when he realised that for all intents and purposes he was his own rival. It wasn’t fair because there was no way he could compete with his younger, flawless self. Still, for Yuuri he’d have to, he’d have no choice.

And that hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

Victor Nikiforov was a strong man, a proud man. Most men from Russia were, really, but he even more so. When he realised that the simple reason he wasn’t wanted by Yuuri was that he hadn’t aged well, he had stood tall even when it had hurt.

He still had things he hadn’t tried, hadn’t done. He was NOT giving up. Other people gave up, other people didn’t win five consecutive world titles. Not him.

Except that when the newly renamed Yurio came to Hasetsu he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yurio, the so-called ‘fairy of Russia’ and his Yuuri got on well. They bickered, Yurio yelled… but they got along. Yuuri never shied away from his touches, even offered to spend time with the extremely snarky teen of his own volition.

He’d never noticed before, but Yuri was...pretty. Pretty like he had been pretty when he’d been younger. Relatively long hair, bright eyes – though green, not blue – and perfect skin. Of course, Yuri was too young for Yuuri to actually pursue him… still, it was pretty obvious which one of them he’d pick, based on how he acted around them both.

Victor was feeling particularly vindictive when he assigned them the pieces, giving Yuuri the one he was more likely to fail at. He didn’t want to leave, not really… but he certainly wanted to be away from him for a while.

He regretted those thoughts almost as soon as he had them. He didn’t give up, he didn’t run away. That wasn’t his style, never would be. No, even under the constant complaining of Yurio, he kept pursuing Yuuri. He pulled him close, grabbed him by the chin, forced the other to look at him and for one breath-taking moment, there had been a spark...and then they’d been interrupted and Yuuri had scampered away.

It didn’t help when little Yuri’s crush on the Japanese skater became more obvious. The man himself was entirely oblivious, but to Victor it was obvious. He knew well the symptoms of having unrequited feelings for Yuuri Katsuki, after all.

He did everything he could to make Yuri think that his weren’t. He touched Yuuri more, pursued him more, pushed him harder because he needed him to win...and then he did.

In a stunning performance, Yuuri won him. As far as Victor was concerned, in every way. All Yuuri wanted was a coach. Still, Yuri was gone, back to Russia, one less obstacle for Victor. Of course, as soon as the other was gone...Yuuri withdrew into his shell even more.

He no longer just turned down offers for dinner, he simply walked past Victor as if he didn’t exist. Yuuri’s family was perfectly lovely, and with a few exceptions, Yuuri was polite as well...until Victor couldn’t take it any more, dragged him to the seafront to talk things out. 

It didn’t help. Sure, they had found a bit of common ground, and their interactions had become easier...but Yuuri had refused his offer to be his lover so many times so quickly, Victor hadn’t been able to count the nos. He thought there had been at least five. One for every year of their age difference and one more to spite him.

Sure, Yuuri had said lovely things, had said that he wanted Victor to just ‘be himself’ - and despite it all, that HAD sent a pleasant, warm shudder through him – but clearly, that was NOT what he wanted. He wanted a different Victor, one from a long time ago. Being asked to act like himself while also being rejected in practically the same sentence hurt, but then he was getting used to the pain.

They attended the national competition Yuuri needed to qualify for the Grand Prix. Yuuri did spectacularly, of course – between his talent, hard work, and Victor, it was the only possible outcome. More importantly, though, Victor had witnessed something else – an energetic young skater clearly completely infatuated with Yuuri.

It had made the other man uncomfortable but after an admonishment from Victor, who felt a strange solidarity to the harshly rejected Minami, Yuuri was nicer to him, and the kid practically sparkled. Victor didn’t feel that solidarity any more after that, not when Yuuri seemed so calmly accepting of the boy from then on.

He knew of course, that, objectively, younger skaters would fill the ranks as older ones retired and that he was practically at the end of his career, if not well past his prime – in more ways than one, his mirror reminded him. Younger skaters would come along, and given that Yuuri was the top skater of his country, he likely had many admirers.

Some of them were bound to be pretty, (semi) age-appropriate men, just the way Victor had once been. Yuuri had adamantly refused any and all questions centred around his relationship history and even his otherwise open family hadn’t been willing to tell him much. He had no idea what Yuuri liked, looked for in a lover. His only clue, really, was himself but younger, and that wasn’t much help at all.

Victor knew that being jealous over something that wasn’t his was stupid. He applied lip balm to Yuuri’s lips in front of Minami anyway because that boy needed to learn his place, thank you very much. When Yuuri had hugged him back moments later, Victor had been so pleased, so relieved. He was the one that was there with the other, the one that would leave with him, go home with him.

He watched Yuuri skate, of course. How could he take his eyes off him? If he could, he wouldn’t have turned his life upside down to go coach him in Japan. He smirked to himself every day he imagined Yakov’s face at his departure. It was fun riling up his old coach.

Of course, being riled up by Yuuri was not fun at all. The ways they each did this varied greatly, thank god. Where Victor made fun and intentionally angered Yakov, Yuuri simply did what he did. He skated. Beautifully. He showed Victor his Eros, showed him what he couldn’t have.

He even pointed out the fact that his hair was thinning to Victor and he had been so ashamed at that moment, he couldn’t help his fake dramatic collapse. Sure, the other had apologised of course, and Victor had forgiven him – he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, after all. Yuuri changed a little too, as the weeks went on. He was more open, more accepting of Victor’s touches.

It was both better and worse. On the one hand, he now knew how NICE the other’s body felt against his. On the other, Yuuri now knew how his own, well, did NOT feel that nice. He also knew that even with the new-found openness, Yuuri was no more interested in a romantic relationship than before.

It still hurt.


	3. Chapter 3

As the first Grand Prix Cup – the Cup of China – approached, Victor grew more and more apprehensive, even as Yuuri grew more and more nervous. He knew full well that his student had the necessary skills to win, but he also knew that Yuuri’s anxiety would make him struggle a lot. He desperately wanted to help but didn’t know how. There was too much on his mind.

Victor had never been a jealous person, not before Yuuri. Watching him reunite with that Thai skater Phitchit, with Yuuri’s other acquaintances, it stung. He was so much more open, he moved so much closer to them than he did to Victor.

Chris took one look at him and knew exactly what was going on. Well, he could see that Victor wanted Yuuri and that Yuuri was clearly not paying attention. His ‘friend’, and Victor childishly did not feel like calling him that any more, practically hit on Yuuri right before his eyes.

Sure, Yuuri was clearly uncomfortable and it DID make him feel better, but the reaction wasn’t as...pronounced as it was with Victor. He spent more and more time staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if there wasn’t something he could do to make himself look younger, to make himself attractive to Yuuri.

He got himself a new suit – that was hardly even acknowledged by the other. He tried a new skincare regime – not a word about it. Then Yuuri won silver and Victor felt like an idiot. He had let himself be so distracted by his own shortcomings, his own feelings, that he hadn’t been a good coach to Yuuri at all.

He’d made Yuuri cry and his pain hurt Victor at least as much as it did Yuuri, maybe more. He’d offered to kiss the other, just because he had felt so helpless, it had been the first thing on his mind and once again Yuuri had rejected him, and quite loudly at that.

The skater had comforted him, for god’s sake, right before his own performance. If that wasn’t the opposite of attractive, he didn’t know what was. Thankfully, Yuuri’s behaviour didn’t change too much and if he was disgusted by Victor, he didn’t show it.

His love, his Yuuri, he had done so, so well. Victor hadn’t been able to help the staring, the disbelief at the Yuuri on the ice. And then...then Yuuri had changed the program, had used HIS signature move at the end of his performance.

Something in Victor had twisted, he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d jumped at Yuuri, pressed their lips together in the way he’d wanted to do for months and months. And then...somehow, Yuuri hadn’t gotten angry. he’d just...accepted it, had stayed there on the ice with Victor covering his body.

Getting up, getting off Yuuri had been difficult, to say the least. His head was dizzy with relief, with happiness at how amazing Yuuri had done – he’d won silver, after all! They’d celebrated together, of course, the lot of them. It had been...fun.

Yuuri had stayed close to him, pleasantly close. When they’d gone back to their hotel room, Victor had almost let himself hope...except that nothing had happened. Yuuri had showered first and he’d gone straight to bed. By the time he had even come out of the shower, Yuuri had already been lightly snoring.

Victor had clenched his fists in disappointment. Yuuri didn’t want him. Yuuri tolerated him, wanted him as a coach, but his feelings were fundamentally unrequited. He’d allowed himself tears, standing at the foot of Yuuri’s bed, for once uncaring that they would mess up his aged face even more, that his eyes would be puffy as well.

It didn’t matter – nothing he had done had made a difference. There didn’t seem to be anything he COULD do to fix it, to change it. The best he could hope for was pity. No doubt, if he confessed to his student, Yuuri wouldn’t turn him down point-blank. He’d at least try, maybe even pretend to care.

Victor didn’t want that, wouldn’t allow himself to be satisfied like that. He was too proud, too in love. It didn’t stop him from imagining it though, from pretending in the privacy of his mind, that the looks Yuuri sometimes shot him, the casual touches the man sometimes initiated, that they meant more.

He allowed himself to think that when Yuuri skated his free program, when he stopped in that final pose, that it meant that Yuuri wanted him, that it said ‘Hey Victor, I pick you.’. He knew better. Victor looked no younger, no more attractive than before, even if Yuuri no longer pushed him away so easily.

There were too many others around, too many better-looking skaters that looked at his Yuuri with interest. The fact that Yuuri paid him any attention at all, outside of the rink, was already more than his face afforded him the way he had become.

Victor had spent so much time being beautiful, so much time letting himself be worshipped by his fans, he hadn’t really noticed that he hadn’t been like that in a long time, for years maybe. If he’d fallen for Yuuri earlier, he may have had a chance...but Victor had missed his chance and by a lot.

Watching Yuuri was his favourite thing to do. He had changed so much, become so much MORE than the out-of-shape boy that had run into the hot-spring fully dressed when Victor had told him he would coach him. He showed more of what Victor had seen at that banquet.

Not Eros per se, but an innate confidence that his anxiety had hidden too well before. It was beautiful and Victor was well aware that others noticed. Yurio no longer shied away from his feelings as much. Phitchit...Victor didn’t think the Thai skater felt for Yuuri like he did but the affection between them was obvious.

Chris was Chris, he hit on anything pretty. Other skaters too, and fans. People approached Yuuri in the road for autographs and pictures. Sure, him as well, but he didn’t care about that. It hardly mattered to him what his fans thought. The only fan whose admiration he wanted was one he had lost.

Victor drank a lot more than he usually did – and that was saying something for a Russian – he wasn’t an alcoholic, never would be, but taking the edge off every once in a while made it easier to go back to hotel rooms with Yuuri already asleep in them.

It still hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

When finally a reminder came that there was more in the world than Yuuri and himself, it was one of the most cruel ones he could imagine. Makkachin had gotten ill. Victor hadn’t wanted to leave, not before a performance and if Yuuri had asked him to stay, he probably would have...but Yuuri didn’t ask. He didn’t seem to consider the possibility of asking, actually, and Victor’s heart soared even under the terror of possibly losing Makkachin.

He’d been on a plane to Japan in no time, desperate to see Makkachin, to make sure she’d be okay. She was. The relief of holding his beloved poodle in his arms again after so long was...immense. He’d missed her, of course – how could he not?

Though he didn’t blame the Katsukis he couldn’t stand leaving her behind. Victor brought her with him – he wasn’t worried about the hotel’s reaction to her. He’d pay whatever fine they wanted, but his beloved Makkachin would come with him.

He’d been a little surprised when he’d seen Yuuri at the airport – not that he had been there, more that he had seemed just as keen to embrace Victor as he was Yuuri. His arms were just as strong, his hold just as firm.

For a few moments, just a little while, he had felt like maybe Yuuri saw him like that after all, that he wanted him as much as Victor wanted him. He’d all but asked Victor to spend his life with Yuuri… and Victor’s response was, of course, yes. Then they had parted, Makkachin had barked and they had headed to the hotel.

Yuuri had held his hand during the cab ride, hidden behind Makkachin’s back. It had felt… wonderful, soothing his soul. He didn’t need more of an idea what it would be like to be with Yuuri if the other felt the same, really, but he wasn’t strong enough to pull away either. He needed the comfort, needed Yuuri...and what could be the harm in it?

Well, a fair bit as it turned out. They completed the rest of the Rostelecom Cup, Yuuri qualified just like Victor had known he would. Then, there were three WEEKS between the last Cup and the finals in Barcelona and Victor finally got to have Yuuri to himself again.

They trained together, skated together, shared the ice. It was the first time Victor enjoyed skating that much in years. He couldn’t recall the last time it was so fun, the last time the ice felt lively. Watching Yuuri imitate his movements, copy his routine, it was beautiful as always.

The man’s passion for the sport was visible in his every step. It was something Victor himself lacked, though others had claimed they’d seen it in his routines. Victor used to love skating, but he only rediscovered that love in between yelling at Yuuri for messing up his triple axel and them having dinner, Yuuri whining about his diet.

Victor realised, right along with that, that even if Yuuri never returned his feelings, if he got his heart broken more and more, it’d still be worth it. How could it not be? There was no way he could possibly regret Yuuri after all.

He made progress too, with Yuuri, and he wasn’t sure if it was better or worse for it. They acted more like a couple. Yuuri let him touch him, hold hands even. He smiled, he hugged Victor. It was WONDERFUL. Yuuri gave Victor a ring even, one that he will treasure for the rest of his life, even as obscene as the beautiful gold band looks on his aged hands.

Of course, he knew better than to assume that Yuuri’s present is a forever one – he made that clear enough right before the final skate. He wanted to end things, afterwards. Victor knew it was coming, even. He couldn't help the tears. It was the first time Yuuri saw him cry and for a bizarre few moments, he felt like Yuuri finally thought he was beautiful, just a little.

Victor was too angry though, brushed him off and pushed him away. He loved Yuuri but not to the point where he’d just take nonsense like that laying down. They fought. They didn’t make up. Victor fell asleep clutching Yuuri’s ring, secretly hoping his skater regrets the fight as much as he did.

His performance the next day made Victor think he didn’t. It was perfection, in a way he’d never seen from Yuuri. It always took very little for Yuuri to be thrown off-kilter, for him to lose his composure to the point where he couldn’t skate. 

The fact that losing Victor wasn’t important enough to elicit that reaction hurt more than anything ever had.

He went to meet Yuuri, when he came off the ice, of course, and met him with a resolution. Yuuri wanted him back in skating and Victor would give him that. He even had a theme picked out already – it was quite on the nose but ‘the pain of longing’ sounded about right to him.

Yuuri broke his world record. Victor was in awe, even as he finally had to accept that there was absolutely nothing at all that he could offer the other now. Sure, Yuuri didn’t win gold, missed it by a pittance, but he beat Victor. Even Yurio did, not that Victor cares all that much about that part.

No, what he cared about was that the one thing, the one reason Yuuri had to look at him was...gone. He was no longer the better skater, just a rejected has-been that was once beautiful, was once someone to chase after, to look up to.

Victor, who has always loved gold suddenly found himself desperately hating silver instead. It looked good around Yuuri’s neck, even as he celebrated with the other skaters at the banquet. A year had passed, a year since the first banquet where Yuuri got so drunk.

He knew that he should go and mingle, should enjoy himself...but he couldn’t. Instead, he stayed in a corner the entire evening, watching Yuuri, desperately wishing he’d known about him back when Yuuri still wanted him.

Yuuri was merely tipsy that time, rather than blackout drunk when they got back to their room. Naturally, Victor accompanied Yuuri back to their shared room, just in case. In case...in case, drunk on his victory, Yurio decided to confess his feelings. In case Chris invited Yuuri to the pool. Just...in case.

Victor never felt more useless than when he scrambled for the key-card to their shared room, Yuuri leaning against the wall, waiting. It took him longer than it should, he nearly dropped the card at one point, before opening the door for Yuuri to step through.

Makkachin greeted them happily, excited to have them both back. She didn’t care for the smell of alcohol though and so retreated to the dog bed the hotel so kindly provided for her. Yuuri just stumbled in, his medal held high above his head, giggling. It was a cute expression on the other, Victor thought.

“Victor, look! I really did it! I won silver!” Victor chuckled. “Yes, you did it. You were perfect today.” ‘Are’ perfect is what he wanted to say, but why bother? Yuuri knew it well enough, people had been telling him all night.

Yuuri gave him a mischievous grin. “You said you wouldn’t kiss silver, right?” He shrugged – sounds like something he’d say, at the very least, in one of those moments where he tried to keep out his feelings, keep his mind clear. Yuuri turned the medal in his fingers. “Then...can I kiss silver at least?”

He snorted that time, sitting on the edge of the bed. Yuuri can kiss who and whatever he likes. Victor certainly would have his opinions on it, but he no longer had a claim to Yuuri. He thought about leaving the room entirely but decided against it. “Of course you can, Yuuri. You worked hard for it, didn’t you?”

The other man chuckled and then Victor was being pulled backwards by strong, firm arms, turned and manipulated until they were both kneeling, facing each other on Victor’s bed. Strong, gentle lips pressed to his own, more insistently, more heated than ever before. Victor melts into the touch, not understanding, not at all.

It dawned on him when Yuuri yanks off his dress shirt, most of their clothes already discarded by the side of the bed. Yuuri didn’t win gold, he won silver. He couldn’t get first prize, so he settled for second instead, for second best. To Yuuri, that was apparently him.

Victor was both proud and hurt that the second best to himself in his prime was, well, still him.


	5. Chapter 5

He could give Yuuri that at least. Victor would be lying if he said he didn’t love the feverish passion, the emotions only he tasted between them. Yuuri was fire, passion, Eros, everything Victor had thirsted for, for a whole YEAR, and now, finally, he got a taste of it.

He knew it would be gone in the morning, that there would be nothing left but pain but for the time being, he needed it as much as Yuuri seemed to need him. It wasn’t a hardship – Yuuri was a gentle lover, surprisingly skilled for someone with as he assumed little experience.

Victor had plenty experience, empty memories, thoughtless encounters with people he didn’t care for. He wanted to try, wanted to be the best he could for Yuuri so that hopefully whatever memories the other decided to keep from their encounter, that they would at least be fond ones.

He did his best to lick, nibble, bite, to please Yuuri as much as he could, never taking his eyes off of him. Yuuri’s stamina far exceeded his own yet again, and really, he’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the fact that he wanted it so badly, as much as he could get.

He managed to satisfy Yuuri three times before the other fell back with a moan, asleep in seconds. It wasn’t enough for Victor. He got up, showered, letting Yuuri rest for a little bit. His body was already marked by Yuuri, he noticed in the mirror – bite-marks, love-bites, red marks on his pale skin.

They were the only beautiful thing left on him and he vowed to take pictures before they healed, physical proof of their encounter. Then he snuck back into the bedroom, well aware that Yuuri was still asleep, on his back, his limbs spread wide.

Perfect. Victor climbed over him, draping their naked bodies together for a few moments. He admired the perfection of the other’s body as he kissed and nipped his way down from his collarbone, over his muscular chest and flat stomach.

There were a few bruises there, bruises around his hip and on his ribs, from falls during practice. Victor knew them well, had had dozens like them, probably hundreds in his career. Maybe, he idly thought as he licked over the other’s hipbone, if he hadn’t gotten quite so many, he’d still look better now, his skin would still be taut like Yuuri’s.

Reaching the man’s pleasure trail, he quietly moaned at the musky smell. It was more enticing than he could put in words, and he couldn’t wait to feel the other between his lips again. Though Yuuri himself was still asleep, that part of him was certainly not, and he teasingly kissed his way over, only pausing to press his cheek to Yuuri’s stomach, revelling in the other’s closeness a few times.

He just managed to close his lips over the other man’s hardness when strong, gentle fingers ran through his hair, pulling him back up after a downstroke. For a moment he almost hoped that his actions would be directed, that Yuuri would encourage him, but a look up revealed that this is not the case.

Yuuri looked confused as well as aroused. Of course, Victor easily let up – the last thing he wanted was for Yuuri to be uncomfortable or displeased. The fingers left his hair almost immediately and Yuuri patted the bed by his side.

Victor settled there, at the other’s request. “What are you doing again, Victor? You can’t STILL be horny, right?” His voice didn’t sound angry at the very least, which was good, he thought. If Yuuri wanted to be seduced, he could at least try that.

“Hm? Me? I’m not the one who’s hard, Yuuri...” He blushed an adorable, deep red colour that suited him far too well in Victor’s opinion. “Well, I’m sorry about that, but you really don’t have to.” “I want to.” He replied instead of the truth because he DID have to, had to use the one chance he had for these things.

Yuuri giggled and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Pressed against his chest, Victor managed not to worry about the future, just for a little while. Then he let go and the thoughts came back. He squirmed a little lower, just to hide more of himself against Yuuri’s body.

“Victor...I was thinking this earlier, but...are you okay?” “What do you mean, Yuuri? Of course, everything is fine.” Yuuri didn’t fall for his fake laugh. “I don’t think it is. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I’m worried.”

Victor averted his eyes. “I suppose, it’s the stress of the competition, it may have gotten to me a little. We’re parting ways soon, aren’t we?” Yuuri hummed. “Well I suppose but it won’t be for long now will it?” Victor sighed.

They would see each other at competitions...but nine months wasn’t long for Yuuri? Well, he had no right to be surprised, did he? He should have counted himself lucky that he was allowed to skate on the same ice as Yuuri at all. “I suppose we haven’t talked about arrangements yet, have we?”

Yuuri scratched his head. “I guess the best thing to do would be for me to come to St. Petersburg with you, right?” Victor reared back so much he nearly fell off the bed. “You want to come to Russia?” “Well, since you’ll be training under Yakov and he’s in Russia, that’s really the best option, isn’t it?”

“Option for what?” “For us to train together, silly!” Victor felt like he was choking on air. “Yuuri...why would you still want to train with me? You’ve already beaten my world record. Yes, you need a good coach but there are many better ones than me. I’m already doing what you want, coming back to compete.”

“Victor...” Wasn’t that enough? How could Yuuri reject him so completely, right before dragging him to bed and then demanding he train him after all? Yuuri wasn’t that...cruel. Victor wanted to refuse, wanted to stop things before they get too out of hand in the end...but he couldn’t. “I have a spare bedroom.” He offered instead and Yuuri was just so delighted.

“Living together, hm? That could be wonderful, don’t you think?” Victor grinned. “Of course, of course! I can definitely keep a close eye on your diet and such.” Yuuri leaned down, pressing their lips together in a gentle, indulgent kiss. “Just my diet, hm?” He wrinkled his nose at the idea of...a casual relationship with Yuuri.

He didn’t want that. He loved Yuuri, loved him more than anything. Being given half of what he wants – and not even the half he wanted more, that is, Yuuri’s heart – it...hurt. Not like some other things have, and there was a whisper in the back of his head that told him that this is GOOD, that it means more time spent with Yuuri, more chances to win that elusive heart of his…

Except mostly, it hurt.


	6. Chapter 6

Victor agreed, in the end, and spent the night asleep in Yuuri’s arms. The other never asked him to leave and so he stayed, out of sheer defiance. He may only be second best, only second choice, but for a little while, he was still chosen and he was determined to take what he could.

Come morning, Yuuri was already gone, a note on the bedside table that he had to catch a flight. Victor shrugged it off, packed his things and called the airport – he’s long since missed his own flight and booked a ticket on a new one.

It was nice to fly first class again, nice to have space and the booze...and if Yuuri had been on his plane he’d have been in coach next to him in a heartbeat. He missed Yuuri. Having spent an awful lot of time never further than a few steps from Yuuri, the pain of missing him was...intense.

When, two weeks later, he got a text informing him that Yuuri’s plane would land the next morning, Victor panicked. He quickly has his flat cleaned by a cleaner, practically everything he owns ironed, he even bought some new plants for his flat before he realised he was acting like a complete idiot.

Instead, he focused on Yuuri’s room. His entire flat is designed with a European theme in mind, including that second bedroom, so he had a traditional futon overnighted and seriously considers buying a kotatsu as well...except that would be trying way too hard, so he resisted. Barely.

He even found one in a nice colour. It was a shame, but in the end, all he could do is wait for Yuuri to arrive.

His things arrived first though, half a dozen boxes that Victor deposited in Yuuri’s new room without looking into them. It worried him a little that the other man brought so...little along, but then, Victor didn’t even know how long he’d be staying. If the boxes were anything to go by, probably not that long.

Victor smiled and pretended it didn’t hurt.

When Yuuri knocked on his door an eternity and a half later, his smile was genuine and the pain was gone. Yuuri, adorable Yuuri was standing in front of Victor’s door, smiling, his face reddened from the cold, a backpack and suitcase in tow.

He had never looked better and Victor couldn’t help leaping forwards and enveloping him in a tight hug, one that Yuuri eagerly returns, before shuffling them both into the apartment and closing the door so Makkachin wouldn’t get out.

Victor let him, of course, happy to simply hang on to the other man. He had missed him, missed him more than he can even say. Yuuri seemed to at least partially return the feeling because within moments, they were kissing, sinking to the floor of Victor’s living room and Yuuri was pulling at his clothes.

He couldn’t help but think about the fact that the light in the room is too bright, that his every flaw would be visible to Yuuri, and how stunning said man looked in the very same light. Still, his fingers never moved to stop him, instead treacherously yanked on his jacket, his shirt, his everything until there was skin against skin.

It hurt a little, when Yuuri took him, eager as last time, but Yuuri noticed, somehow, and eased up, kissing him, plying him with his hands and lips until there was no discomfort save for the one in his heart. He almost wished the other man would have hurt him because then he could love Yuuri LESS instead of more, and if he had any hope of surviving at all, that was what he needed.  
Unfortunately for him, as he fell apart under Yuuri’s fingers, he didn’t get what he needed, only what he wanted. It was good, just as good as the time before, in the hotel room. Still though, when it was over, when they were both breathless, Yuuri pulled away a little too fast and the spell was broken.

The other was embarrassed, clearly, and shying away. Victor felt like something dirty. He dressed as quickly as he could, and with nothing else to do, he went and made them both tea. He bought Japanese tea for Yuuri, something the other man even noticed and thanked him for sheepishly.

Really, Yuuri moving in went smoother than expected after that. He shuffled into his room, closed the door and moved things around. Victor didn’t intrude, had no right to. It was enough that Yuuri was with him, that he was spending time with Victor. 

Their training went smoothly too – sort of, anyway. Yuuri was introduced to the skaters at the rink. They all like him, of course – how could they not? – and before long, Yuuri was almost more popular than Victor. That wouldn’t bother him in the least, were it not for the fact that Yuri is being so, so much nicer to Yuuri too.

Clearly, the brat managed to mature a little somehow, and it showed. The boy was almost seventeen now, and thus almost old enough, almost the right age. He was still just as pretty, except without his off-putting personality to detract from it, Yuri Plisetsky truly had become the so-called Fairy of Russia.

Victor didn’t have a title like that. Sure, he was called a living legend, but that just makes him sound so much older than he is anyway. It wasn’t a kind title, not really. If he was the Fairy instead of Yurio, he could probably have his Yuuri with a snap of his fingers, and as soon as Yurio figures that out, Yuuri would be gone anyway, swept up and taken from him.

He had thrown out several of his things before Yuuri came to stay. Where, originally, he used to keep a collection of magazine pieces on himself and the like, all he had left then are his medals, his trophies and one or two recent pieces about himself. Coming home to that collection of articles, his own face mocking him, had been too much to bear.

The fact that even Yakov called Yurio the new Victor bothered him enough that he actually asked his teacher to stop, in private. In a rare moment of being utterly reasonable, Yakov agreed, and he really didn’t do it again – at least in Victor’s presence.

Nearly a month passed by that way, with them training, sharing meals and once or twice, exploring St. Petersburg together. Yuuri didn’t come to bed with him again though, even when Victor offered. Well, he didn’t offer so much as that he eventually wandered into Yuuri’s room and asked if he wanted to come see Victor’s bed, but really, there wasn’t much of a difference.

Yuuri refused. Victor wasn’t surprised of course, not after last time. Yuuri had been so clearly disappointed, displeased by what he had seen in Victor that day. It still stung, and it had put a quick end to the pleasant aftershocks of the sex itself.

Victor was willing to risk it again though, because now that he’d had Yuuri, he wanted him again, even if he was being selfish with it. Yuuri even still wore the ring, though it was hidden under his gloves more often than not these days.

Really the only time he showed it openly was in Victor’s flat. 

It hurt, a slow burning pain that made Victor smile on occasion.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s exactly a month, three days and one hour after Yuuri arrives in Victor’s home that he confronts Victor. Having had a day off, Victor expects the other man to be asleep, or even just in his room with his laptop.

Instead, when Victor returns from his own training, Yuuri is sitting on the couch with Makkachin and a serious expression on his face. Victor freezes in the doorway, forcing a smile despite the obviously serious mood. Closing the door behind himself, he joins Yuuri on the couch silently.

The other man makes room easily, scooping Makkachin up and out of the way. “You look like you’re in a bad mood, Yuuri. What’s wrong?” Instead of replying, Yuuri reaches out his hand, waiting for Victor to give him his own.

He notices the slight tremble in the younger skater’s fingers as he places them there. “I need to ask you a question, Victor.” He nods, apprehensive of what would come next. “This ring...what does it mean to you?”

He’s floored by the question. “It’s...a promise, isn’t it? Between us?” Yuuri nods earnestly. “Yes, yes it is. A promise for what though?” Victor shrugs. “For me to be your coach? A thank you charm and a birthday gift, you said.”

Yuuri nods again. “Yes. And then YOU called it an engagement ring.” Victor winces at the memory. Yes, he had done that, so drunk on his love for Yuuri that he hadn’t minded his words at all. Was that what Yuuri wanted? Him to relieve him of that promise? Surely it was obvious that he was free to do what he wished either way?

“Now now, you know that I say things like that, Yuuri. What’s the meaning of all of this anyway?” Yuuri’s serious expression turns into a bit of a frown. “Exactly, about that. Did you actually mean it when you said that? Or were you just joking around like usual?”

“What do you mean, like usual?” Yuuri sighs. “I mean that you are Victor. You joke around, you hug people, you say inappropriate things. You...kiss my skates after a competition and you sleep with me in the hotel and then just don’t text me for two weeks.”

He swallows, all the while Victor is doing his best not to fall off the couch in shock. “You...invite me to live with you and then act like we’re simply neighbours. You never...you don’t...you just act like we’re roommates. I don’t understand any of it!”

Victor shivers. There is very little in the world he wants to do less than to have this exact conversation. The list basically consists of waking in on Yuuri with someone else. That’s...the list, really. He swallows.

“Well, Yuuri...” The other tightens his hold on Victor’s fingers. “Tell me the TRUTH, Victor. If you...if you changed your mind and don’t want us any more, I need you to tell me.” Victor gapes at Yuuri. “If...if I? Don’t? What?” He isn’t quite sure where or when the conversation went so off-track, but…

He frowns. Is Yuuri just deflecting? “Yuuri...you know how I feel about you, obviously, by now. So, if you’re uncomfortable with the arrangement we have, you can just say so. You can still stay here, obviously, no matter what.”

“Victor...you’ve never actually told me how you felt and...well, to be honest, there have been more mixed signals than anything else.” He blinks at Yuuri. Mixed signals? He’d turned his life upside down, paused his career for him, moved to Japan and so on and so forth. What about that was mixed? What about the fact that he'd been hitting on Yuuri since their meeting in the onsen was a mixed signal? What about the way they'd danced together at that banquet had been a 'mixed signal'?

Victor huffed. "I've made it obvious how I feel." And to him, he had. It had always been Yuuri that had been the one to pull away or tolerate him, at best. Yuuri's answering smile is...almost sad. It stings. "No, Victor, you haven't. You've flirted with me since the first time we actually met in person, uh save for the banquet. I mean, you introduced yourself to me NAKED. You always...flirt, joke, and all that. And I mean, you were the one that said you'd be my coach only until the Grand Prix. And then you just sort of went along with things. And when I came here...well, you actually STOPPED flirting with me. I don't understand any of it any more."

Victor let his eyes fall closed. He knew what Yuuri wanted to hear, what he wanted him to say. He...didn't want to. Voicing his feelings would make him vulnerable. Yuuri already had the power to hurt him, he didn't want to give the other the opportunity to kill him as well. Feeling a tear trickle down his cheek only for it to be brushed away, he reconsiders. This is...Yuuri. Yuuri who never seemed to deliberately hurt him, much as he DOES hurt him, and often at that. If nothing else, getting it over with would be good for him.

Probably.

Maybe.

He opens his eyes, meets Yuuri's. They almost seem to reflect the same pain he feels. It's odd. "I love you, Yuuri. I've loved you for a long time." The other skater gasps, tears welling up in his eyes before he lunges forwards, his arms wrapping around Victor's shoulders, both of them tumbling off the too-small couch and landing in a heap of tangled limbs on the floor. Yuuri is mumbling something against his chest, something in Japanese, something he can't understand. The embrace feels good though, for all that the position he's twisted in hurts.

In a parody of their kiss on the ice, this time it's his body below Yuuri's, his head pillowed by Yuuri's fingers in his hair. He allows himself an indulgent smile, his battered heart soaring just for a bit. He'd forgotten how wonderful loving Yuuri Katsuki felt sometimes. Eventually, Yuuri pulls back, tears still running down his cheeks. Ever the ugly crier, he still looks stunning and Victor wipes away a tear of his.

“You love me? Really?” He nods. “Of course I do. How could I not?” Truer words had never been spoken, had they? “Then...then why are you acting like this? Why haven’t you...I mean I know I shouldn’t have done what I did when I got here, but you’ve just been so distant.”

He fake-smiles at Yuuri. “Ah, Yuuri...I love you, but I am under no delusions that you love me back. I simply didn’t want to...intrude. And I’m sorry you regret what happened. That wasn’t...my intention.” Hearing Yuuri so openly admit that he didn’t enjoy it makes him want to hide away again...except that Yuuri’s expression changes to one of suspicion almost, a frown, a squint.

Victor is getting more confused by the minute. “Victor… You do realise that I’ve loved you since I was thirteen, right? And that I’ve admired you for longer?” He sighs, running a hand through Yuuri’s black hair. “You didn’t even know me then. But yes, I do know that you found me attractive. I’ve seen the posters.”

Yuuri brushes off his hand. “No.” “No? I’m sorry but I snuck into your room one day. I saw.” He shakes his head, pushing himself up until he’s essentially straddling Victor’s stomach and staring down at him. He looks beautiful like that, to Victor.

“No, not that. I figured you knew that. I figured that it was obvious that I love you.” Victor smiles – he doesn’t mean the words, not like that, but at least now Victor will have the memory of Yuuri telling him that, something to cherish along with the ring.

“I know you liked me when I was younger. I’m under no delusions about how I look now, Yuuri.” Saying it was easier than he expected, really. The sting of it masked by the fondness over Yuuri’s admissions so far. “You…I…What?” Yuuri stammers.

“Victor, are you crazy? You’re beautiful. I mean yes, I liked the way you looked with long hair but I like your look now too. More actually since I get to see you like this every day.” Victor winces. “It’s not just the hair though, Yuuri. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. I’m not a teenager any more, I’m going on thirty.”

“So? I’m in my mid-twenties too, hardly much younger.” Victor runs a finger over Yuuri’s bottom lip, no longer shy about touching him. “Four years is a lot. There’s no need to pretend, Yuuri. I told you I’ve seen the posters. They’re all several years old, most of them have me with long hair. It’s...okay. I don’t mind.”

Yuuri practically gapes at him. “Are you serious right now? Victor...yeah, those posters are old. As a matter of fact, by now, they’re at least six years old, save for two of them. You know why?” He shakes his head mutely and Yuuri groans. “Because I hung them all up long before I left for America. I didn’t even VISIT home for almost five years! There are two recent ones because Mari hung them up to tease me.”

Victor blinks in shock. That explanation never even occurred to him. “I...see. It doesn’t change the fact that I have wrinkles now though, or that my body isn’t like it used to be. I have eyes, Yuuri.” “I’m beginning to doubt that, actually. Victor...you’re beautiful. Stunning. I can’t believe you’d think anything else. People tell you CONSTANTLY. Do you think they’re lying? I mean, when you came to stay with us I could barely stand looking at you because I was so terrified I’d say something stupid.”

“Something...stupid?” Yuuri groaned, a blush covering his cheeks. “I, well, yeah. Something like ‘Hey Victor, would you like to maybe have my virginity?’ or maybe something like ‘Hey Victor, can I touch you to see if you’re real?’. Honestly, it was humiliating.”

He whines low in his throat – he’d had no idea. “Victor...you don’t have wrinkles, and even if you did, you’d still be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And if you WEREN’T, I’d still love you. I don’t just love you for your looks.”

His expression turns contemplative while Victor just feels like he is being taken apart piece by piece. Surely the conversation they’re having is just some kind of daydream? “At first I liked you because of your skating, as a kid. I wanted to be like you. Then, as a teenager, I, well...” He blushes scarlet.

“I mean I have eyes. And, uh, hormones. And then much later I met you and got to know you and on top of being gorgeous you’re also just this wonderful person.” Yuuri runs a hand over his chest, seemingly unaware of it, while he talks. “I can’t believe you’d doubt how attractive you are, or even that I love you.”

Victor presses his lips into a thin line. “I’m no longer the person you look up to, Yuuri.” “What?” “You’ve beaten my world record, Yuuri. You may not have won gold but with a 0.12 point difference, you may as well have. I...you’ve already caught up to me, Yuuri.”

He smiles wistfully – he felt both immense pride and regret that he couldn’t escape, that he couldn’t keep ahead of him for longer, keep his eyes on him for longer. “You have five world championship titles, Victor. Even IF I was just interested in you for that, I’m at LEAST five more years away from it, and even THEN, you’d have still done it younger. I’m never going to catch up.”

He sighs down at Victor. “I don’t care any more. About catching up to you. I haven’t done in a long time. I mean, I want to compete with you. But… mostly, I just want to skate on the same ice as you. That’s what I care about. That’s why I wanted you to come back next season.”

Victor shivers. He hadn’t thought about it that way. “You’re the better skater now, Yuuri.” He lightly flicks a finger against Victor’s forehead. “I’m not. If you aren’t there to help me before I compete, I go right back to being a terrified mess. I’ve become better, yes, but only because you were with me, Victor.”

He smiles, so very sweetly that Victor would have swooned if he hadn’t been laying on his back. “I need you Victor. I don’t think that will ever change. That’s why...I wanted to talk to you. I just don’t understand why you’ve been acting the way you have been since I came to Russia. Did you hate it that much?”

He blinks. “Did I hate what?” Yuuri blushes again, shifting a little out of obvious discomfort. “Uh, well, me pushing you down without even asking. When I...got here?” He blinks again. It’s really all he can do to process at the moment.

“I loved every minute of it, Yuuri. You were the one who pulled away.” Yuuri slumped, his shoulders sagging. “I felt guilty. We’d barely even said hello and then I went and did that...and honestly, you looked so UPSET afterwards. I hated myself for it. I thought maybe that’s why you didn’t seem interested any more.”

Victor chuckles. “It was...very bright in here that day.” “And?” Yuuri frowns for a moment before an unsettling air of understanding settles on him. “Is this about how you look again?” Victor shrugs. “Victor…come with me.” Just like that, he’s standing up, not even waiting for Victor to follow before he stalks into his bedroom.

He follows, of course, to Yuuri’s wardrobe. The man points at it. “What about it?” “Open it.” He instructs and Victor frowns. He knows what it looks like – he bought it, years ago, when he moved in.

Indeed, things are as they always were. A clothes rail on one side, several shelves on the other. He turns back to ask Yuuri what he means when something catches his eye. He pulls the doors apart wider and blushes scarlet. He can only imagine how ridiculous the colour probably looks on him.

Really, the posters that Yuuri hung up look much better. Posters of HIM. Three of them, on one side of the door. They’re recent too – one is of them both, of their exhibition skate. It’s retouched, of course, touched up to look better on paper. Next to Yuuri’s unchanged face, he looks boring. Still though, Yuuri...hung them up.

On the other side, the other door, there are photos, printed and apparently taped up. They too, are mostly of him-him in Japan, him during the Grand Prix, him in Russia. Even one or two of him skating, and several together with Yuuri. He remembers only a few of the shots, the ones he took together with Yuuri.

He trails his fingers over a selfie he took together with Makkachin and Yuuri. It’s his phone’s background image. He had no idea Yuuri even had a copy of it. Warm arms wrap around his waist from behind. “Do you get it, Victor? I love you. I think you’re beautiful.”

Victor is grateful for the arms holding him up because without them he might have fallen. Yuuri...loves him. Really loves him. Apparently had, even while Victor was torturing himself over when Yuuri would leave. Did that mean...he wouldn’t?

Twisting in Yuuri’s arms, he rests his arms on the shorter man’s shoulders. “Yuuri… what does that ring mean to you? You asked me earlier, but...” Yuuri smiles up at him. “I want it to mean forever, Victor. Don’t you remember? When I win gold next season, we’re getting married.”

Victor huffs. “When, huh? Aren’t you forgetting someone?” He sighs. “You’re right. Yurio HAS been getting pretty good.” He stiffens in the other man’s arms. He’d hoped that Yuuri would see him as his main competitor of course…

Yuuri strokes a hand down his back. “Victor?” “Yuri is...prettier than me. Younger than me. Just as skilled. He likes you as well, wouldn’t you rather him?” Lips press to his cheek. “No. I love you. I was trying...to tease you. Say, Victor, how come you think so lowly of yourself?”

‘I don’t.’ is the first reply that comes to mind. It’s...not true though. ‘Because I thought you didn’t want me.’ is the next thing he thinks of. He doesn’t say that either because it makes it sound like it’s Yuuri’s fault when it isn’t. “I don’t know.” He finally settles on.

Yuuri gives him an understanding look. “We should have talked more. You always act so self-confidently, I never knew… I was trying to tease you, lighten the mood. I don’t care about how Yurio does in the next competition. I’m in it because I want to skate with you.”

He smiles brightly up at Victor and he can’t help pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m the same. I...wanted to come back only because you wanted me to. I love being your coach as well, I just regret I’m not better at it.” Yuuri chuckles. “Not good at it? You turned a complete failure into a silver-medallist.”

Victor tilts his head when an unbidden memory rushes to the forefront of his mind. “Yuuri...about that...the first time we slept together...” Yuuri nods,a faint flush on his cheekbones. “You asked if you could kiss silver. I assumed you...were asking if you could have the second best thing. So, me.”

Yuuri gapes up at him, his mouth an adorable o-shape as he stares at Victor without blinking. “Uhm, Victor?” “Mh?” “Come with me for a moment.” Then Yuuri pulls away and Victor is following him for the second time. This time Yuuri leads him to the bathroom and points at the mirror. For a few moments he expects to see more photos, but there weren’t any that morning and there aren’t now. Instead, he looks at his reflection.

He looks like usual, a little more dishevelled if anything. Absent-mindedly fixing his hair, he waits for Yuuri to make his point. The other man just stands there, watching him, a fond expression on his face. “Victor, what do you see?” “Myself?” Yuuri chuckles and uses his fingers to mess up the hair he just fixed.

Victor pouts. “Ne, Victor...I asked if I could kiss silver.” He nods, still, not understanding and Yuuri just starts laughing. “Remind me what colour your hair is, please?” He tugs on a strand as if to make his point and he feels his mouth fall open in surprise.

“Silver. You asked if you could kiss silver...because I’m silver?” He grins up at him and Victor is pretty sure that he’s never been happier than in that moment. Victor doesn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to the nod that Yuuri gives, instead simply crashing his lips against the shorter man’s.

There is no finesse in it, no skill, merely an expression of the sheer emotion coursing through Victor. Yuuri wants him. Yuuri always wanted him. His pain, it had always been in his head, something he tortured himself with, as well as his partner…his fiancee.

Yuuri returned his kiss easily, chuckling softly as Victor presses him against the shower-stall. It’s a long time before he let’s go again, and even then he only pulls back to let the giggling Yuuri breathe properly. “Ne, Yuuri?” “Mhm?” “I love you.” “Mh, I love you too, Victor.”

“Would you like to see my bed, Yuuri? It’s big.” Yuuri sighs exaggeratedly. “So you’re still going to tease me, hm?” “I’m not teasing! It’s really a nice bed.” He pulls Yuuri along to his bedroom and pulls him down into said bed.

Yuuri teasingly fluffs a pillow. “Very nice...I think you sleep naked though?” Victor’s eyes reflexively twitch to the two windows to his left – it’s still the middle of the afternoon. It’s...bright. “No, Victor. You’re beautiful.” He winces at how obviously he was apparently being.

Looking up at Yuuri, he shivers. The other man has never looked at him with such open desire before, at least not when not skating his Eros routine. Victor reaches to unbutton his shirt before he can even process it properly and Yuuri’s smile when he does it is just absolutely unbelievable.

Victor wants to tell him so, but absolutely no words will come out of his throat. Yuuri seems to understand anyway, thankfully, and helps him when his fingers stop working altogether.

* * *

Yuuri wakes up first, a few hours later, cuddling Victor in bed. His beautiful, beautiful lover that for some reason managed to hide his horrible self-confidence issues from Yuuri for years. Having already been awake for a few minutes, he’s pondering every interaction they’ve had, tries to see them how Victor did. He's always kept quiet about the wonderful things he thinks of Victor - he didn't want to come off as another adoring fan, and he'd been so sure that Victor knew anyway, because how could he doubt his perfection?

The discovery of the truth hurt him – he’d thought HE was the one who had been struggling. He deeply regrets not having seen it sooner. His lover deserved better, really. Pressing a soft kiss to Victor’s lips, he watches the man scrunch his nose and mumble something in his sleep.

Yuuri had missed the signs so far...but thankfully he’d have the rest of his life to make it up to Victor and to convince him he was as amazing as Yuuri knew he was. Certain things he’d seen made sense now, certain looks, a melancholy he’d spotted every now and again in his lover. That had to stop. If he had to tell Victor he was beautiful every single day of his life, he’d do it happily.

He wouldn’t trade all the gold medals in the world plus his skates for the opportunity to do so, he thought, as blue eyes sleepily blinked open and he is graced with a smile that he’s longed to see up close since he was a teenager. It’s much prettier in person than it ever was on TV.

He tells Victor, just to make the smile that much brighter.


End file.
